


candied hearts (that melt in the rain)

by spearmiintt



Series: Twitter [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Debate Captain!George, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Quarterback!Clay, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29689524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spearmiintt/pseuds/spearmiintt
Summary: It’s a week before Valentine’s Day. Dream is a steadily-increasing nervous wreck. George begins to get suspicious. The weatherman predicts rain on February 13th.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Twitter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173977
Comments: 30
Kudos: 262





	candied hearts (that melt in the rain)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [socksisgone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/socksisgone/gifts).



> you can find me on twitter where i will announce all other works @gogyisnotonfire !

For a couple that had been dating for four months now, it was still a bit difficult to interpret George’s emotions at times. Of course, Dream knew, he’d gotten a lot better at it, becoming fluent at reading the fluster that he’d always been able to give him, the giggles that would break and bubble up through George’s throat after their long kisses, the distanced gaze that would fall over his face when he was sad or stressed.

But now, a week before Valentine’s Day, he has absolutely no idea how George feels. He only knows that he wants to make the 14th perfect for both of them. Only, he has no idea how to start, and no idea where to end.

And it sets in him an inkling of worry, that he knows will only grow as the week goes on, and the days get closer to Valentine’s Day.

“Did you get that, Clay?” His boyfriend’s voice seems to float towards him from a thousand miles away, a sturdily built lifeboat swimming steadily towards him in the sea of his emotionally complex, vast thoughts. 

“Hm?”   


“I said that the government model of communism’s always turned towards totalitarianism, and that many people argue that it’s because of human greed.”

“Oh,” Dream says. “Sorry, just- distracted about something.”   


“You’re fine.” But the concern on George’s face is too easy to catch as he softens his voice. “Everything okay?”   


And he wants to tell the brunette what’s been bothering him for the past few days.  _ I want to make Valentine’s Day perfect for us but I don’t know how _ , he nearly says. But he shoves it away in the back of his mind, reasoning with himself that he’d figure it out in time for the romantic holiday. “Uh, it’s just something with the football team,” he lies through his teeth, plastering a smile onto his face as he turns to his notes and starts to write down what George’s just said to him.

“Okay,” the shorter student says, a note of gentle questioning still in his voice. But the both of them know that he won’t press the matter.

Suddenly, an impulsive thought strikes Dream’s mind like a flash of lightning. Maybe he should just ask George to dinner, he thinks quickly. It would be a casual enough date for the holiday, but would it be good enough? “Actually-” Dream begins, rushing through his words, dangerously closer to the precipice of daring before the rope of reason, rationale, loops and pulls him back around the waist.

“Mhm?” George doesn’t look up from the pre-highlighted speech cards he’s been going through, making sure they’re all perfect for the next debate season.

“Uh- never mind,” Dream looks down again and scribbles some more garbled notes down on his notebook page to cover up the embarrassed flush on his face. Stupid, he thinks to himself, to have done such a thing so irrationally.

The bell rings soon enough, the ten minutes of comfortable silence they’d slipped into falling away slowly behind them.

“Call me tonight,” George says quietly, softly, amorously.

“I will,” Dream promises, taking his bigger hand and wrapping it around the smaller one laying on the table, squeezing once before letting go.

And it’s the thought of George’s colder, daintier fingers intertwining with his that keeps him distracted enough to completely miss a thrown football during practice after school two days later. Partly, at least, it was that thought. Most of what else he was thinking about was, again, how to perfect Valentine’s Day for him and his boyfriend.

His coach looks at him severely. “Clay,” he begins slowly. 

Dream sighs. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m just distracted today.”   


“Go for a few laps, son. It’ll clear your head.”   


He nods, knowing that his coach’s words are true; the air rushing past him during a run never fails to bring him down from the swirl of confusing thoughts in his mind. So, he picks himself up and begins to jog around the track, smiling a bit as the cooler wind swirls around him and relaxes him immediately.

“Dude,” his best friend, Sapnap, immediately says as they hop into his car after practice. “What’s up with you today? Even Tyler did better than you, catching the throws.”   


Tyler, a rather short, stocky kid, was what the entire football team referred to, unspeakingly, as the ‘runt’ of the group. It was true, and it was even more pathetic that Sapnap had had to tell Dream exactly who’d done better than him.

Dream nearly laughs at the ridiculousness of his friend’s statement. “Shut up,” he manages, an incredulous grin on his face.

“It’s true,” Sapnap quips back, though his voice softens into genuinity a second later. “Seriously, though, what’s wrong?”   


He almost doesn’t know what to say back. The worry that had eaten at him, torn at him and nearly pulled him inside out was beginning to seem trivial, stupid even, when he was being asked about it. But he knew that it wouldn’t stop feeling smaller to him. “I- I want Valentine’s Day this year to go perfectly for George and I,” he begins. “And I don’t even know where to start, and it’s freaking me out because I can’t stop thinking that I’m going to end up… I don’t know, messing it up, somehow.”

Sapnap looks earnestly at Dream. “Clay,” he says, honesty ringing true in his voice. “It doesn’t need to be perfect for it to be a good time.”   


\------

George was uneasy.

He’d been uneasy ever since Clay stopped picking up his calls, ever since the last time they’d logged on together and fooled around in Minecraft was two nights ago, ever since Clay’d simply… distanced himself. It was difficult to name exactly what he’d meant by ‘distancing’, but a pestering thought in the back of his mind, given room to grow and watered by doubt and insecurity, screamed to George in passing moments that his boyfriend could be cheating on him, wanting to break up with him, bored of him.

He knew he’d spent a lot of time questioning if there was something he was doing wrong, wondering if he really was annoying, or boring, or both of those options combined to Clay.

And reassuring himself that he was getting caught in his thoughts, or just being stupid, was getting harder and harder every day. 

“Looking towards the rest of the week, it seems like it’ll be rainy tomorrow and Valentine’s Day!” the cheery weatherman grins, lopsidedly and somewhat faked, as they point to the diagram on the filmy television that plays in the background, George sitting at the dinner table with fifteen pages of speech cards laid out in order, somehow concentrating on them but not paying any attention at all. He almost laughed at the oxymoronic situation he was in.

Fuck it all, he thinks idly. Relationships were by far the most complicated enigma he’d encountered in his entire high school career, though he’d only been in one, and they definitely weren’t academically challenging (given the occasional exception when he’d stay up all night on a sleep call with his boyfriend and wake up late the next morning). 

He turns his phone over, almost wishing for a text from Clay, a “Hey, everything is okay”, or even just “Hey”.

Nothing.

The screen glares at him, spitting out a “10:22PM” before fading into darkness again.

It would be wiser to call it a night than to keep forcing himself to absentmindedly highlight while obsessing over a romance that would probably be over before Valentine’s Day, he thinks.

So, George calls it early and stacks all the papers he’d spread over the table, making sure to keep them in order as he pushes them gently back into his thick debate binder.

And then he remembers that Clay is driving him home tomorrow. 

He’s never been good with confrontation, even for a seemingly overconfident debate team captain, realizing this as he lays wide awake two hours later, trying to frantically piece together a semblance of what he’d possibly confront his boyfriend with tomorrow.

“I think you’re breaking up with me,” he says out loud, no one but the sweeping darkness and glimmering beams of moonlight to hear him. “Because… because we’re not talking anymore and you’re not telling me why.”   


To his surprise, a stray tear catches the side of his eye before rolling down his cheek, hitting his pillow with a soft thud.

It hurt to lose, he knew. 

The disappointment after the unsavory results of a tournament, the award going to a different school, the solemn “we’ll do better next time’ speech he’d always forced himself to give to his team on the quiet bus ride home.

But it was nothing compared to the pain of losing a person.

If he really lost Clay tomorrow, it would stab him like a knife, wrap around him like the unforgiving wind he’d too often been caught in when he lived in London. He already knew these things, as he let more warm, sluicing tears slide down his face.

Sleep soothed the wounds that were beginning to open in his heart as he slipped into unconsciousness, wiping at his face as his breathing evened and deepened, thoughts stolen away by the fair maiden of dreams that he wouldn’t be able to remember in the morning.

He spends the next day at school too preoccupied with exactly what he’ll have to say to Clay that afternoon, not properly concentrating even when tutoring the other boy, too wrapped up in the thousands of scenarios he can’t help but to create subconsciously.

“Hey,” his boyfriend’s voice cuts cleanly through his wracked and tormented thoughts, gentle eyes and tall figure.

They run to the car through the pouring rain, the weatherman from last night clearly on the mark, Clay laughing, but stopping after George can’t bring himself to laugh with him.

“What’s wrong?” the green-eyed student asks, coming closer and trying to brush the locks of steadily-wettening brown off of George’s forehead.

George reacts like gunpowder sparked by a lighter at the other boy’s touch. “It’s fine if you want to break up with me!” he blurts.

The look shifts from hurt to something unreadable back to hurt in Clay’s green eyes as George brute-forces his way on through the words he’d mulled over obsessively last night in bed.

“It’s okay, I saw it coming,” he has to nearly yell to keep his voice clear through the pouring rain, feeling his throat stutter in protest to the change in volume as the tears begin to fall, mixing with the water droplets falling onto his face, some dripping from his hair. “And it’s fine if you find me boring, or annoying, and you never had to play Minecraft with me anyways, it was your time that I wasn’t entitled to,” he says quickly, looking away as he sees Clay’s eyes well up with tears as well. “It- it’s just because we’re not talking like we used to anymore, and I don’t know why, other than the fact that you want to dump m-”   


Clay crosses the distance between them in two swift steps, reaching down to cup George’s face with his two warmer, larger hands. “George,” he whispers, tear falling from his eye as he leans down and presses his lips to his.

The hot, salty tears stream down George’s cheeks as he kisses back, mingling with the cooler, sweeter raindrops.

And it’s like they’re kissing for the first time, nothing but butterflies on their insides and the feelings they knew were the same, head full of each other, Clay’s hand reaching down to pull George in closer by the waist, other hand never leaving the side of the brunette’s face.

Finally, George pulls away to wipe the water and remnants of his crying off of his cheeks. “Wh-”   


“George,” his boyfriend holds him close, “I’m so, so sorry if that’s what you thought I was going to do. I just- I didn’t know what to tell you about Valentine’s Day. I wanted to make it perfect for you, but I- I guess I was just so worried that I wasn’t putting my priorities in the right place. I’m so sorry, baby,” he soothes, pushing the sodden hair out of George’s eyes as he reaches up to caress the shorter boy’s face once again.

“You idiot,” George says, though there’s no real hardness behind his fond smile. “I wouldn’t have cared if you took me to eat Mcdonald’s tomorrow. It would’ve been with you, and that’s all I want, Clay.”   


Clay smiles. “So.. Mcdonald’s for Valentine’s Day?”   


“Shut up.”


End file.
